Final Whispers

If I had known  

that would be the final time  

I’d see you,  

I would not have left in silence,  

hiding behind sacred shadows.  

I’d have let the world blur,  

two steps closer,  

dissolving the distance,  

rising onto my toes,  

my lips drawn near your ear.  

I would have unveiled  

each guarded emotion,  

allowing my confessions  

to melt your unease,  

my breath warming your skin.  

Brushing against  

the tender curve of your neck,  

I’d have let you feel  

the cadence of my heart,  

each beat murmuring your name.  

I would have woven words  

to convey how I understand,  

how I draw breath,  

how my heart’s rhythms spell  

what it means to taste freedom.  

Fingers clutching the fibers  

of your shirt, rising  

from your chest to your neck,  

entangling in the sanctuary  

of your hair, seeking solace.  

I’d have listened to your eyes,  

fallen in love with  

the rawness of your breath—  

unbound, untamed, unguarded—  

in a way, I would never  

love again.